Page 97 of Beau and the Beast

The difference between what Wolfram saw when he looked in the mirror and what Beau had drawn there was stark.AllWolfram saw of himself were the things that were different, the cruel twist of horns and the frightening teeth.

He makes me look handsome, Wolfram thought.

The next page showed a bust of him, drawn from the waist up without his vest or watch. In the drawing, he was holding a book in one hand, turning a page delicately with one claw. Again, he was shocked by the positive portrayal, the way he was almost unrecognizable. Beau had drawn deep clefts of muscles, sketched the movement of his fur where it grew in different lengths down the centerline of his body, growing darker and longer at the bottom of his belly before disappearing into nothingness where the sketch ended. The portrait was practicallysensual.

When he looked up, Beau was there, worrying his pink bottom lip under a perfect white canine tooth.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Beau said.

“Mind? The drawings?”

Beau hitched his shoulder. “Maybe I should’ve asked permission.”

Wolfram shook his head, looking down to the portrait and then back up at Beau.

“Is this how you see me?”

He nodded. “I try to draw exactly what I see.”

“I can’t believe thatthisis what you see when you look at me.”

“They’re not very good,” Beau said. “Maybe if I practiced more—“

“Beau, they’re phenomenal. They’re lovely, but—you’ve made me lookhandsome.”

Slowly, Beau’s expression changed, a sad smile growing across his face as he stepped toward the bed. His movements were purposeful and slow. Wolfram’s breath hitched as Beau steadied himself, placing his hands on Wolfram’s shoulders before straddling him again, letting his light weight fall across Wolfram’s lap.

Wolfram didn’t move to touch him. He sat completely still, as if movement would break this waking dream.

“Youarehandsome, Wolf,” he said softly.

Wolfram shook his head, casting his eyes downward. “This is impossible.”

“It’s not. Everyone was too busy being afraid of you to notice,” Beau said.

Beau slipped a hand under his chin, tilting Wolfram’s head back up and then pressing their foreheads lightly together. His blue eyes were twin nebulas in the dim light of Beau’s bedroom. Something was cracking open inside Wolfram’s chest that made it harder and harder to breathe.

“I see you, Wolf. And I think you see me.”

Wolfram swallowed hard and pressed his eyes shut. It was all too much.

“If I had just met you in another life—“ Wolfram began.

“But we have each other inthislife, right now, Wolf. Can’t you see?”

Wolfram opened his eyes again and Beau was still there, still close, still gazing at him like Wolfram was every good promise in the world made material for Beau.

“We shouldn’t,” Wolfram said quietly, hating the words even as they were on his lips.

Beau just shook his head, as if he wouldn’t dignify the protest with an answer.

“I want you—just like this,” Beau said.

The reality of the statement railed against everything Wolfram thought he knew about his life. It was simply impossible that someone as good, as beautiful as Beau would wanthim.

But it had to be true. Beau had never lied to him. He thought back over the past few weeks, the kindness and care, how Beau had never been afraid to touch him, how his gaze had lingered on Wolfram at dinner. The flush of arousal they’d both felt in the other room couldn’t be faked and Wolfram’s senses had never betrayed him.

Wolfram kissed him then, giving into the scintillating thrum of it, abandoning the broken protests and the hundreds of reasons why they shouldn’t. He was wanted—Wolfram was desired by the only person in the world who he’d ever wanted with such intensity.

---